The Chronicles of Gladstone
by CaMiAk
Summary: Gladstone was a depressed man with no future, political or otherwise. Until one man showed him an entirely different path. Now, Gladstone's ambition and power grow daily, and no one, it seems, can stop him...
1. Chapter 1

Nope, don't own these books… working on it but not yet

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The man eyed his drink suspiciously. It was not poisoned, no doubt- no self-respecting assassin would waste good coin to poison him- but looked itself to be poisonous. It was a deep brown, almost black, and far too thick to be ale. Some strange sort of brown crust was forming where the liquid met the glass, and William could not discern whether that was from the ale or crud left over in the cup. He sighed. English money didn't go far these days. Perhaps if he carried the Spanish dollar, or the more powerful Czech currency… but this liquid appeared to be all in stock at this bar. William replaced the cup on the counter. He needed a drink. But he didn't need one that badly.

The room was dark and dreary, and in some attempt at irony, the weather gods had mirrored the situation outside. It wasn't entirely raining, but the mist hung heavy enough to make the citizens of London damp, whether they stood inside their house or out. Despite the lack of a storm, though, a soft and distant rumble of thunder could be heard, with no apparent source. The whole world was half-asleep that day, and the half that had to be awake did nothing but grumble about it.

And as if only to annoy William, his chosen wooden seat had a crack down the middle, the two sides of which pinched violently at his rear.

The door swung open suddenly, with just a little too much energy so as to attract the attention of everyone in the bar, except William, who was occupied with a sullen passion in solving his chair dilemma. A large man entered. A very large man. He had blond hair that should have been curly, but was cut just short enough to keep it straight. Though his arms and legs showed hints of muscles, the amounts of fat on his body vastly undermined any intimidating air he might have possessed. Rather, his scarlet suit and overstretched smile would have appeared almost comical almost anywhere but this bar.

He strolled across the room, or rather bounced, to discuss personal matters with the bartender, a very worn and very pregnant woman. His voice rang with a heavy British accent, despite his Russian parentage, a fact he kept very much to himself in these times. Though the other patrons could not hear the bartender's whispered response to the man's statements, they saw as his spirit visibly deflated and he muttered some condolence or other.

A while passed as he sat at the bar, and slowly he began to amuse himself by ordering unwanted drinks and watching in harmless sport as the bartender snatched his coins off the bar and eagerly counted the amount. And as this diversion grew tiresome, he began to look around his surroundings, taking in every particle of dust and depression with a vague interest in the apparent novelty, before he spotted the man only a foot to his right.

"William? William is that you?"

William did not need to look up, for though he paid the man no heed, he was very much aware of his presence.

"Mr. Richton. A pleasure, as always."

"You and your formalities William, or should I say, Mr. Gladstone. I am no more your superior here than you are mine is Parliament."

"Nicolais, then. A pleasure as always."

"A pleasure indeed. It has been a while… almost," he paused, mentally calculating, "well too long anyhow. And you, well, you look as if you've run afoul of more than just cheap ale. Devon again?"  
Only Nicolais would dare refer to the head of Parliament as 'Devon'. To everyone else he was 'Mr. Arthurs, sir'. Especially to William. Especially now. But for all his boldness, Nicolais was right about William. The young man's blond hair was slick with sweat and hung down by the sides of his drawn, pale face. His thin lips and cheeks showed hints of a yellowish tinge, and purple circles ran down for an inch below his eyes. And he daresay he looked thinner than usual. Suddenly, William wanted that drink. Against his better instincts, he lifted the glass to his lips.

Nicolais placed his hand on the glass. "I would not do that. Disgusting, that stuff is."

William, rather in the mood to obliterate his feelings with alcohol quipped "Odd then that you should have bought three in the last hour."

"Bought three yes, but haven't touched a drop."

"Then why did you even come to this place?"

"Ah. Here to help out an old army buddy, and now, apparently his widow."

"The quality of obituaries must have decreased then, if they somehow missed your friend," William responded, rather more focused on moving his glass closer to his lips from below Nicolais' meaty hand.

"Aw… can't read the things. So depressing… Still, I came here to help him; I couldn't leave that dear Marion and his unborn son destitute. Army dignity would forbid it, as you well know."

William didn't know. Army was a vague term nowadays, meaning anything from hand to hand combat to standing on the sidelines sipping coffee. William wasn't entirely sure which sort Nicolais was.

"Now, now William, if you fancy ale I would suggest the Robber's Wineskin in the west. They-" He stopped suddenly and appeared to notice his friend's torn coat and shabby nature for the first time. "Well, I came into more than a few pounds the other day. My treat."

"I'm not entirely sure…" William began, images of Nicolais in a drunken stupor flashing in his mind.

"Nonsense, if you need a drink bad enough to buy that… that soup- no offence Marion, dear- then I insist."

And at that he snapped his fingers, and from the air appeared a strange, lizard-like creature yet with purples scales and random patches or dark blue fir across his body. The other customers at the bar gasped, and Marion appeared to want nothing more than to run for her and her baby's life, but neither Nicolais nor William paid them any mind.

"Ever one for subtlety and aesthetics, Zamin," Nicolais scolded, but the creature showed no inclination to change his appearance. "Very well, escort Mr. Gladstone with us to the Robber's Wineskin. And do change into something decent, you'll have half of London on our tail."

William, still struck dumb and staring at the creature, made no objection as the creature pushed him along out the door.

They made a strange procession through London. A fat man in his bright red suit strolling quickly with a merry air. A prisoner being dragged forward to the West. And a purple lizard in the rear, now wearing an equally flamboyant scarlet ensemble. And about a hundred yards back from them, came a pack of desperately fleeing, panicked drunkards,


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own these books.

* * *

Parliament was heavily in session, as it had been for hours. William sat straight and attentive as ever, yet his mind continued racing through thoughts far away from the assembly room. That creature, that Zamin. Was that his name? Yes, Zamin. Even William, whose occult knowledge was lacking, was certain this creature was a demon of some sorts. Had Nicolais sold his soul to the devil, and had this demon come to drag him to the pits of Hell? No, William thought. He had never been a religious man, and the idea of Nicolais serving the Devil was laughable.

Still, he had heard rumors that the Czechs ruled with demons. And they ruled most all of Europe! And Nicolais could control that demon, Zamin, perhaps others too. The possibilities of power flashed before William's eyes. To see Britain restored, finally, to the throne of all Europe, supported both by their army and men and his army of demons! William was breathing heavily now, almost drooling at this new development.

Yet, outside of his imagination, as per the usual, a drawling speaker stood before the crowd of men, reiterating his point of view in increasingly sophisticated words, and offering absolutely no evidence to support it, while the crowd of men in dark clothing nodded pensively and tried to maintain consciousness. If anything, William's apparent interest in the goings-on was suspicious, to say the least.

At last the man finished, and another man stood up to begin his rebuttal. This was merely the first of three rounds of debate, before an actual vote was taken. Inwardly, the mass of politicians sighed, although they covered this up in a half-hearted attempt at professionalism. And over this entire, formal affair, presided Mr. Arthurs.

William had decided that he must bring his ideas through Mr. Arthurs, even though their history was rocky at best. He knew that if he were to proceed with his idea without the approval of a prominent figure, it could easily be misconstrued as treason. After all, if he did raise a demon army, who would believe he had no intention of taking over. No, he had to go through Mr. Arthurs, there was no other way.

Sunset always marked the end of the Parliament session. After all, there weren't enough candles in London to fully light up the ornate hall. So as the sun finished its descent, the men quickly gathered their papers, and composed themselves to appear before the commoners during their walks home. Amidst this rush, William hurried forward to discuss matters with the head of Parliament.

Mr. Arthurs was of average height and average weight, and would never be called neither handsome nor ugly. His grey eyes were always squinted and had a permanently bored look about them, and his mouth was always set in a perfectly straight, unchanging line. His hair was dark and straight, and his clothes were suitably mundane. All in all, he looked thoroughly unremarkable, and he presided over Parliament in just the same manner.

Officially, his job as Head of Parliament only required him to direct meetings, and granted him no extra powers. Mr. Arthurs took this clause to heart, and never made a move slightly out of the ordinary. As a result, almost nothing had happened in Parliament for over a year now.

William approached Mr. Arthurs slowly and cautiously. The man's head was bent over some papers, and he studied them closely. William coughed politely, and Mr. Arthurs straightened up quickly, to meet his gaze, and nodded in recognition.

"Mr. Gladstone," Mr. Arthurs acknowledged.

"Mr. Arthurs, sir, might I intrude upon a moment of your valuable time. I have a matter to discuss of rather pressing importance."

"Well then, out with it. And quickly, if you think my time is that valuable."

William kept his face perfectly still, careful not to let his discouragement interrupt his polite exterior. "Sir, I am sure that you are aware of the Czech threat. The Holy Roman Empire is growing by the minute, and it is only a matter of time before-"

"I know the situation, Mr. Gladstone. You said that you had a matter of some importance to discuss, and a briefing is hardly urgent." As he spoke, his hands continued sorting through papers, and he made a move to end the conversation.

Undeterred William continued, his opinions safely still safely masked with a civil smile. "Indeed, sir, we are all well aware of the crisis facing Europe, but we remain as inactive as ever."

"Stop right there, Mr. Gladstone. This is shameful, if not pathetic. Any idea you have worth defending will be able to stand trial by all one hundred of us simultaneously. And if it cannot stand the usual process, I suggest you abandon it and do what your job requires."

"But sir, if you would just listen-"

"Listen?! Gladstone, if you would listen to a word I said, you might have earned respect in your career. But instead you have always tried to weasel your way past me. And you want me to back you?"

"I only want to research."

"Research! You would not have come to me if you only wanted to read a few books."

"But surely you've heard rumors of the origins of Czech power."

"Demons and magic? Rumors, and nothing but that."

"What if they weren't?"

Mr. Arthurs froze for a second, before staring William straight in the eye, and in a suddenly low voice said, "If they weren't rumors? Gladstone you have outdone yourself. You have gone against all decorum and rules of Parliament, you have asked me to favor you, and now you want us to waste valuable resources on the occult. Go home, William. Today's session has ended, so go home. And if you return tomorrow, I expect nothing less than optimal behavior. If this idea of yours is worth it, you can propose it be put on the agenda for a vote. Does that interest you?"

William remained silent and unmoving.

"I thought not," Mr. Arthurs finished. "You have great talent, William, but I've never seen you apply it towards anything but the easy way out."

Mr. Arthurs turned away, and William nodded respectfully as he left, defeated.

* * *

The easy way out! William fumed. How could that man accuse him of taking the easy way out when he has done nothing, absolutely nothing? He sits there at the front and won't even adjust his collar until he's sure he's got at least a two-thirds majority behind him. He's not a leader; he's just a man who sits around banging a gavel and waiting for the whole country to reach an accord.

By now, William had reached his own home- a dingy two-room building in which he now lived alone, after his previous landlord and roommate had died suddenly without any family or possible heirs. Although for a time he had missed the old man, after such an infuriating encounter, William relished the ability to pound on the walls or topple furniture without disturbing anybody.

The library in his house was rather less than sufficient. It consisted of an odd assortment of books, no two on the same topic, scattered about randomly in the building. Nevertheless, William collected all of them and sorted through them for anything on demons or the like that he could read while he formulated a new plan of action.

The only book even remotely similar was entitled Jalovitz and was, at best, a fairytale- an adventure story about a young man, cleverly named Jalovitz, from some unknown foreign nation, and his adventures with spirits of old and rebellious demons. There was nothing useful, and absolutely no facts: all dramatic fights, billowing clouds of smoke, and dialogue in outdated old English. Yet William found it soothing to read for a few hours, and in the end, found the story not to be wholly useless. Jalovitz, for all his drama, was rather a strategical genius.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Alas, I have failed and have no claims of ownership over these books.

Wow, this update has taken forever. I've been sick and then had school to catch up on and then the holidays, and then I just plain forgot about it, and then I got sick again… oh well, if you're still interested, it's here now.

"Have at thee, vile creature, scourge of this fair kingdom!" Jalovich proclaimed loudly, and lunged with his sword, but was met with an equally powerful parry.

"Thy strength is mortal, young Jalovich. I have power in one hand sufficient to destroy thee." In a moment the battle shifted and soon Jalovich lay helplessly on the ground. The creature stood above the boy, and in one, lazy movement, Jalovich's chest had been slashed in six directions. The cold, cruel laughter filled Jalovich's ears as he slipped away from consciousness…

William turned the page. He had been through the book three times, but still read in earnest, searching for a missed detail or the suchlike. It was a simple story, concerning a young wizard's apprentice living in a land haunted by a great evil called Morlwin. When Morlwin's dark army attacks his hometown, Jalovich the apprentice is defeated in a duel and forced into hiding in the mountains. The novel recounts his impressive return and rise to power.

In essence, it had all the qualities of a fairytale. And the ending was rather cliché, with all the peoples in the land rallying behind Jalovich. But, it reiterated a timeless message: a man is only as strong as the support he can gain.

Reading this book, William felt his heart begin to pound and his breathing grow heavier. The more he read, the more he realized his stupidity, and the more he could see a new idea formulate.

Every time Jalovich challenged Morlwin to duel, he would lose. After all, even an imbecile will notice if you attack him head on, William thought. Even Mr. Arthurs can see my intent if I show it to him. And Mr. Arthurs is the only obstacle between myself and means to research these demons. Yet as long as Mr. Arthurs is the more powerful, I'll never get past him. The only way to beat him is through the throngs of loyal (or perhaps, not so loyal) men following the order of Parliament.

Of course, where to start was the most important piece of this new plan. Recruiting common men would be useless, and low-ranking officials held no more sway or favor than William himself. Ideally, William would convert a high ranking member of Parliament. But the majority of these people either had a close bond and intense loyalty to Arthurs, had a strong moral code, or were well known for their loose mouth. Of course, there was the odd exception, but William had hardly spoken to any of them, excluding Nicolais.

William knew that he must attract Nicolais in the end, somehow. After all, Nicolais alone had proven himself with the demons. But William had never been able to trust Nicolais. After all, Nicolais had risen to his position through brilliant maneuvering, but all the same showed himself to be relatively unintelligent and naïve. Or perhaps he was simply a very good actor.

William's course of action was still unclear as he entered Parliament the next morning. The room was almost in session when William arrived, but as per tradition, the men were busy occupying themselves in an extremely active denial of the Czech situation and England's increasing poverty by engaging themselves in such thrilling activities as paper shuffling, water pouring, and ordering pages to fetch unnecessary documents. William felt an increased sense of disdain for these men. It was very apparent that the Parliament's comfort, perhaps even their sanity, relied on the fragile belief that their time-wasting and bureaucratic methods would one day fix everything, and in the mean time they ought to violently ignore any real, impending threats, and focus on the more mundane aspects of government work. In this case, today would be spent debating standard paper shipping taxes.

Still William hid his emotions. Best not to draw attention to himself, he supposed. No, he would have to observe quietly.

Though he purposely set his face in a blank, languid stare, internally he was on fire. His senses were raring, rapidly observing everyone around him. He scanned the faces of many men, searching for his next break. The back row was all men of too low standing- they'd always flock to the most powerful party. There wasn't an original thinker or risk-taker among them. The next row was of a higher rank, but violently opposed to war with the Czech. And the next five men were just incompetent.

Finally, William arrived at a few men to consider. The first of which was Jackson Oliver. He ranked just slightly below William, but showed great promise and charisma, but above all, ambition. Ambition was usually the cause of most stupid political decisions, and often caused men to make alliances with the strangest people. Promising, William thought, very promising. Plus, he had a family history of nobility, before the system was destroyed. Of course, he still had appeal to a particular faction of commoners, and some favor from Arthurs himself. In short, he was the perfect puppet, William thought, although there were probably many men campaigning for Oliver's help.

The second man, Alain DuMarl, held no favor. If anything, he was mistrusted in his post. Naturally, of course, since he was the first member of his family ever born on English soil. Admittedly, England was on good terms with France, for the moment, but these were turbulent times, and it would be so very easy for DuMarl to be forced from his position.

But DuMarl was intelligent, very much so since he had been able to enter the world of politics with almost no outside assistance.

Then again, William debated; it can be risky to befriend possible enemies of the state. No, he would go to Oliver first, and use DuMarl as a last resort.

The meeting came and passed as an exercise in monotony. When at last it concluded, William resisted the urge to yawn loudly, trying to maintain his professionalism. Quickly he gathered his things and scanned the parting crowd for Oliver. To his dismay, the man was engaged in a deep conversation with Arthurs.

William had no way of subtly approaching to eavesdrop so he could only guess what they were discussing. None the less, Oliver was nodding vigorously, his brown hair bobbing in his youthful enthusiasm. He was clearly eager to get in Arthurs' favor. And Arthurs was clearly ready to exploit him.

It was time to regroup and plan again, but William's impatience dominated his sense. The burning sensation of plans bouncing in his head threatened to consume him if he didn't act soon. It was folly, he knew, and it was exactly why he was mistrusted. But all the same, he couldn't stop himself. It was his passion and his obsession. He swung his head about searching for DuMarl's black hair and dark eyes, to little avail.

Finally, his gaze reached the space under the entrance and another pair of eyes met his. Grey, squinting eyes. Arthurs watched him back. Then slowly, mockingly, the minister shook hands with Oliver and said something that was inaudible. Looking back to William, Arthurs calmly smiled.

The meaning was apparent. Arthurs knew. He knew William was planning. And he was warning William. This could not be a secretive rebellion. Arthurs did not want to silently struggle William. He wanted all out war.

William cursed and abandoned his search. During the walk home, William once again felt the urge to break something. How could he have been stupid enough to believe that Arthur's couldn't guess? Yes, Arthurs was a weak leader, but he had earned his position. He may avoid decisions but he knew exactly what was happening.

Woo…. That was a looong wait. Sorry guys…. And sorry that this chapter is wicked short… and no action. I swear action coming up in the next chapter. And the introduction of the first important female character. And it's a little scandal. That update will come soon !!!!! Don't give up on me yet!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I think you can guess by now

Another chapter…. Yes! Okay, it's not my favorite chapter, but we finally get some spice going! Enjoy!

OOOOOOOOOO

The walk to his home did nothing to calm William. Rather, it did the opposite, giving him time to brood. The cards were stacked against him too heavily, and his plans were failing before they had even begun. After crossing his threshold, his first action was to upturn the nearest piece of furniture, which unfortunately, was his desk. Dozens of papers were scattered, completely out of order. William looked onward passively. He knew he should clean them up. He knew he should sit down and read them. He knew he should be working to come up with clever, honest solutions to Britain's problem.

But he couldn't bring himself to try again. The treasury was almost empty. The Czech's were leering over their shoulders. The army was barely clothed, let alone armed. The parliament was useless. And magic was beyond his grasp unless he had help. And he couldn't get help with Arthur's in the way. The situation was beyond hopeless. So William just could not force himself to stare at the same documents again. Instead, the room still in disarray and the papers resting helter-skelter, he walked up the rickety set wooden steps to his bedroom, and lay down to sleep.

OOOOOOOOOO

A harsh knocking resonated from his downstairs, but William was reluctant to draw himself from sleep. It was not the first time he had dreamt of her, nor would it be the last. But each time, her deep brown eyes haunted him, even as he knew he was waking up. It was years since he had known her embrace, but somehow he knew he could never forget the feeling of her skin on his. But nevertheless, the knocking was persistent, and William roused himself and walked to the door.

As the wooden board swung open, William noted two very odd things. The first being that is was raining, very heavily. It had been perfectly sunny that afternoon. The rain must have moved in fast. The second odd thing, William realized, was that it appeared to be the middle of the night, with the crescent moon hanging just above their heads.

At first, William didn't register who the figure was before him, still rather confused as to why there should be a caller in the first place. "Yes?" He asked curtly, anxious to return to his dream.

"Really, must you be so rude Gladstone? I was under the impression that you were interested in seeing me." William stared at the man. It was difficult to see him, for the lamps in the kitchen had long since burned out). But finally, he recognized the mop of black hair and the usually tidy white shirt, which now looked almost transparent from the rain.

"DuMarl? I am delighted to see you, but is this meeting not a tad unorthodox?"

"Perhaps. Of course, it is unorthodox to attempt a cout, is it not?" DuMarl began casually, "Though I do apologize for the meeting time. One cannot be too careful."

William was frozen. He had not spoken to DuMarl yet, how could he have known?

"Please, Mr. Gladstone, you are easily the most ambitious person I have met, but you are also one of the most obvious. You want nothing less than absolute power. As do I."

"Then why have you come to me?"

"Because I need help, and you can give it to me." With this, DuMarl gently pushed William from the doorway and entered the kitchen, proceeding to dry himself to the best of his ability.

"What exactly are you suggesting, DuMarl? If you seek _absolute_ power, then why should I want you as an ally?"

"Gladstone, I am suggesting a partnership. Well,no, rather more like an alliance. A partnership implies equality and camaraderie. I would sacrifice you in a heart beat to reach my ends, as I'm sure you would me. I am suggesting, however, that for the sake of both our goals that we adopt some semblance of friendship, at least until we can overpower Arthurs."

William paused. "That is a bold proposition."

"No bolder than you would have offered me. Still as I see it you really can't refuse me. Need I remind you of the details of the Emily affair. Yes, I know everything. And I know what you'd say to the Parliament. It was a deal, just money changing hands, nothing more. But still, that would be a crippling indictment, wouldn't it." DuMarl raised his arms to his head and leaned across the door frame casually as he spoke.

William knew that he should be panicking. But the accusations about money proved one thing: DuMarl believed the rumors about Emily's status. William knew that Emily would never act as the prostitute that rumor made her out as. But apparently, DuMarl did not know this. "Now listen, DuMarl, I don't know where you got this information from, but-"

"But it doesn't matter. A relationship with a woman of that sort would be damaging to your reputation. But given who she is, I could easily see this destroying your career. Arthurs is looking for an excuse to exterminate you, and I have it. But besides that, this is the same proposition you intended to give me, correct?"

William hesitated before responding. Then slowly, he smiled. It was then he realized that he liked this man. He would make a worthy ally, and a worthy foe. "Yes, DuMarl, that is correct. Now tell me, do you have a strategy?"

"As a matter of fact, Gladstone, I do."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Emily awoke to the strange sensation of unfamiliarity. As she paced about the room, she greeted each landmark, if only to ensure herself that she recognized it, and that she belonged there. She inspected her grandmother's old trunk, and her bed, the view of closely packed houses through the window. Everything was exactly as it should be, the same as it had been since she was a little girl. And yet she couldn't shake the feeling, as though she were lost, or something didn't belong.

Shaking her head and remembering herself, Emily prepared for the day. Rapidly, she slipped her blue, satin dress over her white sleeping shift. The water in the wash basin was clouded, but she scrubbed herself dutifully, all the same. Today was, she supposed, an important day to look clean. Atop it all, she placed her most treasured piece of jewelry, a simple pearl necklace with an ivory clasp. Satisfied, she set about combing her hair.

Her hair was easily the pride of her appearance. It was long, brown, and sleek. It shimmered in the sun, and easily twisted into elegant knots, if only she had the patience to put one in. The rest of her, she mused, was frightfully plain. Her skin was rough and her clothes were often askew. And her eyes were so dark they looked like holes in her head. Only one man had ever thought her eyes to be beautiful. Windows into her heart, deep and eternal, he had called them, in an odd moment of poetry. She fancied that they just looked black.

All about her, the city was awaking. The sun was rising as the market slowly filled with vendors and farmers. Shops opened, horses began to trot across cobblestone streets, and workers set about their tasks. Everything was as usual in Prague. And Emily now found herself oddly excited.

That day, Emily was prepared to meet with Jurgis. True, she wasn't particularly interested in the match (and was rather uninterested in marriage as a whole), but it did mean that someone was interested in her. Someone thought she was worthy. Admittedly, Jurgis himself had all the personality of a log, but still, he didn't think she was as useless as her mother and the headmistress had always insisted. Albeit, having a suitor wasn't the sweetest vengeance for years of schooling, harassment, and failure, but it was vengeance nonetheless, and she was determined to enjoy it.

Walking with the utmost care, ensured she was covered demurely and appeared presentable, Emily moved to the parlor, where she awaited her escort, alone. It was a strange feeling, the house being empty. She was used to the presence of servants, or at school, the other girls. Now, with her mother and uncle engaged in their morning constitutional, and the servants missing, the house seemed almost uncomfortable, and Emily could not help fidgeting, until at last her mother and uncle returned.

Both her relations' clothes were fine and unspoiled. After all, they both enjoyed flaunting their class as much as Emily hated it. But then again, both of them fit the role perfectly. As brother and sister, they both had the same gray-black hair, thin and bony structures, and stern eyes that watched every movement accusingly. The stood perfectly straight, and above all, they were thoroughly and completely rich.

Emily had often debated who her father could have been, that he could so counteract her mother's influence. In the end though, she had stopped trying to picture him. In order to produce her, she reasoned, her father must have been even more clumsy and awkward then she, and that couldn't possibly speak highly of him. All she knew was that he was an Englishman, but beyond that, she preferred to imagine him her own way.

The group rode a carriage to Jurgis' house, as befitted their station. Emily would have preferred to walk, as she could have used the time to strategize. But now was a time for first impressions, and grand entrances were a large part of this. So, Emily leaned her head against the cushioned rest, and thought quickly about her plans.

As her mother had informed her repeatedly, Jurgis was a rising star in politics (though Emily had repeatedly wondered how someone could be a rising star in a heritage-based system). Of course, she hadn't been well informed in the topics so as to appear "politely inquisitive, but not too intelligent, so as not to overwhelm him." Thus, unprepared, she watched as the house loomed into view.

It occurred to her then, for the first time, that she was facing down her future. This would be a forever arrangement. But, she realized, forever didn't mean much to her anymore.


End file.
